Damon handed off Brenna’s car to the valet, then led his beautiful girl through the front door of the Venetian, hand in hand. Jesus, he couldn’t believe it. He’d told her he was falling in love with her. And more than that, he’d meant it.

This wasn’t over. He was going to have more Brenna—not just as a colleague, but as…everything. A friend, a lover, and…that strange melding of the two that he didn’t even know a name for.

He hadn’t quite realized he wanted that until he’d heard the words leaving his mouth—hell, a lot of unplanned words had left his mouth tonight. He hadn’t even known why he wanted to take her out into the desert until they’d gotten there. He’d actually thought maybe it would be a nice, quiet place to fuck, a nice way to end their affair. But the moment he’d stopped the car, he’d understood that he couldn’t end it. Just couldn’t.

And he wasn’t sure where it would go from here, but…he couldn’t remember ever feeling this great. Like there was more to life than music and sex. And music and sex—well, hell, they’d both been very good, but…maybe it was time to start making some changes in his life. He hesitated to think of it as “settling down” so decided to think of it more as “making a closer connection” and maybe having someone to lean on, depend upon, when he needed it.

At the moment, he felt totally carefree. He didn’t even care if Claire Starr sued him. If she did, he’d get through it. With Brenna’s love and support.

With her, he had the whole package. A scintillating sex kitten. A sweet, loving companion. An intelligent friend. An insightful coworker. No wonder he was in love with her.

And if Claire sued, or if the tabloids persisted, or if more rumors abounded—he simply knew he and Brenna would get through it, together, and everything would be okay in the end because he’d still have her. He’d always thought his job was the only thing that really mattered to him, the thing he couldn’t live without. But he’d just made room for something else—someone else—in his life, and Claire Starr and nasty accusations aside, the world felt pretty fucking perfect right now.

“Happy?” he asked as they walked down the hall toward his suite, still holding hands.

She smiled up at him, biting her lip. “Very. Happy and…dusty,” she said, giggling. They were both covered with a fine sheen of desert powder.

“The price of fucking in the dirt,” he said with a grin, remembering how he’d moved on top of her, in the dreaded missionary position—which, suddenly, had felt a lot more intimate than dreadful—and how much he’d welcomed that intimacy this time. “How about this?” he asked. “I’ll run us a nice, sudsy bath in the Jacuzzi, and we’ll make sure you get that orgasm, after all.”